


Clad in Iron

by ymaface



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Forced Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:30:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4771796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymaface/pseuds/ymaface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She could be dressed as a queen in all the lace and jewels in the world but she would never forget that she was presented to him in naught but her skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clad in Iron

Not sure exactly what prompted this

* * *

 

 

"...If they think to claim Storm's End then they are gravely mistaken...for the strong towering walls of my forefathers have protected us against all manner of storms. May they bring rain, may they bring a hurricane! No army will wash us away!" she shouted, her very life and soul crying out. Despair and determination twisted together inside and she felt the cool spray of sea salt on her cheeks. She looked around at the men before her. "My lords...my friends...together we will keep this invasion at bay. Draw your swords and fight; for my father, for Storm's End!"

And with a hiss of steel they each pledged their solemn allegiance to her, Argella Durrendon.

However they did not bring a hurricane, or any weapon wrought by man. The mighty dragon Meraxes screeched and beat its wings, the force alone enough to scatter men and horses across field. It flew across Storm's End so that its huge bulk blocked out the very sky and they were plunged into darkness.

The next day she was bound in chains and gagged.

The iron made it impossible for her to stand proud as they stripped away her costly gown of gold. Grubby hands tore at her hair, fingers and neck, removing all of the tell-tale jewellery that showed her to be a lady. The only thing they let her keep was a ring passed down from the father, engraved with the Durrendon sigil. No as a mercy, she understood, but to prove her lineage. She was indeed marked for trade.

There were no jeers or foul words as the men dragged her out of the gates. She fought furiously with every breath in her body but the chains were tight. She scratched, bit, and spat at whatever she could get hold of but the men were clad in armour. She could do no more damage than a gnat.

She wept. She wished she could hold it in and show her strength but the humiliation was too much. She was half-dragged, half-supported away while making a futile attempt her shelter her private parts. She could see the enemy encampment now as it spread across the surrounding fields, literally surrounding them.

She swore at their weakness, their cowardice, at their lack of honour. They were spineless to surrender themselves. They should have stood and fought together, and indeed perhaps die together. They would have been escorted to heaven with pride. Damn their rotten souls to hell! At least she would not go without a fight...she would not be given over like some trophy. She would see her father again.

There was no sign of the silver haired conqueror or his wild sister. Instead she was taken to the bastard brother.

He was evidently shocked by her appearance and for that alone she hated him. If he was to execute her bloodline and take her home then the least he could do was own to it. She was pushed to her knees before him, the mud of the field marking her bare legs.

Again she attempted to cover herself with her hands while she stared angrily up into his eyes. Her limbs shook from the cold icy wind.

He should not have been an imposing figure - his face was plain and his body no stronger than any other soldier - and yet she felt the other men shrink away. She looked closer and saw tough wide-set shoulders, strong hands that held a formidable looking war hammer, and a grim severe mouth. When he at last returned her gaze she found, to her surprise and ire, kindness in his eyes.

"Remove those chains," he instructed and she was at last free from the rough iron. "Lady Argella, you are welcome."

She rubbed her sore wrists and did not return the compliment. Her traitorous men were bid to go back to Storm's End with his promise that no harm would befall them. Orys Baratheon then approached her and removed his thick fur-lined cloak. He swung it across her shoulders and offered her a small smile.

She spat on the ground.

 

* * *

 

 

He wanted her for a wife. It was his way of securing Storm's End and aligning himself with one of the oldest families in Westeros. Her name would forever be changed to Baratheon but her blood - and that of the Durrendon line - would be his. Their children would not be that of the ancient Durrendon family but of a bastard jump-start.

She hated the idea and wanted to decline but she was in no position to deny him anything. She had no kin to defend her and depended completely on his charity and well-meaning.

Still, she swore and raved when he asked her. They were stood in her chambers in the castle of Storm's End and it was nearing nightfall. He was staying in her father's lordly rooms while he resided here while she was moved back into her old rooms. The servants and staff were all the same old faces, except now she trusted none. It made her feel like she was surrounded by familiarity in a hostile unfamiliar world.

"Lady Argella?"

She stared at him. He was waiting for an answer although, of course, it didn't matter what she thought as he would do as he pleased. He was the Hand of the king, second in command of Aegon's armies.

She balled her fists and walked away from him. She was dressed in the finest of cloth and the heavily embroidered skirts rustled as she moved. She could be dressed as a queen in all the lace and jewels in the world but she would never forget that she was presented to him in naught but her skin. "You shall take my sigil, I suppose? And my house words?"

"Ours is the fury," he murmured. "And indeed, you have proved your fury."

She narrowed her eyes. She was not much shorter than him and could catch his eye without looking up. "Those words hail from Godsgrief himself. They are not for some bastard half-brother to mock. You yourself have no such lineage - so you feel you must steal mine!"

He caught hold of her arm and studied her closely. "Your eyes are blue. Like the sky or sea...or, rather fittingly, a storm." This was the closest he had ever been to her and she was not altogether comfortable with the proximity. She did not want him and she would certainly never trust him. While he had shown her nothing but courtesy, he had still murdered her own father and captured her home. "I wish to marry you, Argella. I am to forge a new house and for that I need a wife of steel and iron. Your beauty is also an attractive prospect."

She scowled and pushed him away. Suddenly she was close to tears but she had sworn to never cry in his presence again. She felt so hopeless - so _captured_. Never again would she stand upon the walls of Storm's End as a Durrendon, looking out over the wild seas and feeling at home. It was the prize of war. _She_ was the spoils of war. Something to be traded and used to further the grand plans of great men.

She was a prisoner. Bound to be remembered forever as a Baratheon wife with Baratheon children.

In low tones she agreed to marry him and in the same breath asked that would leave her sight. She did not sleep that night. 

 


End file.
